


More than you bargained for

by Yurusarenai (iwantcandy2)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angel Sex, Angel Wings, Boat Sex, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26295853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantcandy2/pseuds/Yurusarenai
Summary: Rantaro lives a lonely life. No guardian angel, no soulmate, no one but himself and the open ocean. However, when he's stocking up on supplies one day, he meets a boy that claims to be his guardian angel. However, Kokichi may be an angel, but he's no saint, and Rantaro is certain he's hiding something.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	More than you bargained for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mother_of_a_Grape_Gremlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_of_a_Grape_Gremlin/gifts).



> A commission for Dru! Thank you for the lovely prompt! I've always really wanted to write NDRV3, but I've never gotten around to it until now.

He was out of sunblock. He might as well have been out of air to breathe. Out on the open ocean, you needed sunblock the same way you needed air. If you didn’t have it, then you’d fry alive like something left too long on the grill. So because he needed sunblock, and a new net, and maybe another book or two to pass the time, Rantaro sailed into port and docked his boat. 

The plan was to land, spend a couple hours bartering with his limited funds, and get back on the open ocean before the sun set. Rantaro didn’t care much for dry land. Too many people—and angels. 

He didn’t resent other people for their good luck. Everyone else, with their soulmates or guardian angels or the few fortunate enough to have found both, that was all well and good. But Rantaro didn’t need them. He’d made his way through life so far fine without them, and if he hadn’t needed one in twenty years, he probably didn’t need one at all.

So he made his way through the bustling dock, trying to get out into the city proper. It was no good haggling on the docks. Too many people who didn’t have the patience, on the move from one place to the next. No, it was better to go into the market proper, where people were settled in for the long haul. There Rantaro could wear them down, stretch his handful of coins that much farther. If he had his way, he wouldn’t have to spend any time as a day laborer this round and could get right back out on the water.

So he made his way through narrow streets, dodging around the most suspicious of puddles and weaving his way into the central square. Here there were people hunkered down in their stalls, canvas tents the only barrier between them and baking sun.

He found a man with an excess of tinctures and lotions, and behind him a crate of Rantaro’s quest: sunblock. The man had a guardian angel helping to manage the stall, its wings the same washed out red as the canopy above them, and the creature eyed Rantaro suspiciously as he approached. He’d heard that angels were supposed to be excellent judges of character, a bit like guard dogs in their ability to sense danger. Frankly, Rantaro would prefer dealing with dogs. At least those wouldn’t eye him with quiet so much intelligent disdain.

“How much?” Rantaro asked, inclining his chin towards his goal.

The shopkeeper and angel exchanged a look, and the angel let out a sigh. That was usually the reaction Rantaro elicited—pity and exhaustion.

“What’s a boy like you doing all on his own?” the man asked, staring up at him through eyes that were dimmed with age. 

_Boy._

As if Rantaro hadn’t been fending for himself for years already.

“I get by,” he replied, voice neutral. 

“No parents? No angel?” the man mused, squinting as if searching for the defect in his customer.

“I have money,” Rantaro replied. 

“And not even a soulmate to help you out? How unfortunate to be all alone.”

There it was, whether meant or not—that silent accusation. 

_What’s wrong with you?_

As if the state of being alone was a disease, or a crime. Some mark of deviation.

“I like being alone. Now about that sunblock.”

“Mm,” the man contemplated, “sunblock is in high demand in these parts. Going price at the big stalls is two gold a liter.”

“This isn’t a big stall, though, and that’s obviously not your regular commodity. It’s going to sit around gathering dust,” Rantaro countered. “Look, I don’t have much to offer. I can do half a silver for half a liter, and I brought my own container.”

He pulled out the tried and true bottle he’d been using for months now. Waste not want not was his motto.

The vendor’s nose scrunched, but it wasn’t outright refusal. Good. He could work with that.

“How about two silver for half a liter?”

Rantaro opened his mouth to accept, but he was interrupted, both by noise and a soft _thwump_ of someone shoving him aside.

“How about two silver, we throw in this bottle—”

The tube in Rantaro’s hand was snatched away before he could process what was going on, transferred from his grip to waving in the man’s face.

“—which is a family _heirloom,_ mind you, and you give us a full liter? I mean, what are you gonna do with half an empty tub of this stuff, anyway? It’s gotta be all or nothing, right?”

Rantaro looked down at the intrusion—a man short enough he hadn’t seen him approach. Man wasn’t the right descriptor; this was an angel, complete with a set of orchid wings flapping excitedly with every statement. 

“And you are?” the shop owner asked, eyeing the pint-sized angel with the same bleary assessment he had shown Rantaro. Likewise, the man’s own guardian angel was scowling in disapproval.

“I’m this dude’s guardian, and I’m here to prevent him from getting any bad deals. What you’re doing is highway robbery, which is impressive considering we aren’t even on a road, much less a highway. I gotta applaud the grift.”

“Excuse me?” Rantaro asked.

“Excuse me?” the shopkeeper echoed.

“You’re excused,” the angel said to both of them, tossing the battered bottle to the other angel, who fumbled it in surprise and then chased after it when it rolled away. “Now if you don’t mind, we’ll be taking _that._ ”

He reached for one of the tubs of sunblock. His hand was smacked away by the angry shopkeeper, who suddenly moved like a much younger man when his wares were in jeopardy. 

“Out!” the man said, pointing. His guardian angel came up behind him, puffing its wings so that it looked like a disgruntled hen.

Rantaro didn’t want to risk a fight (or an encounter with law enforcement), so he turned heel and left, cutting his losses and kissing his empty bottle goodbye. The small angel followed after, dodging in front and sticking his hand out.

“Nice to meet you!” he chirped. “Name’s Kokichi, and starting today, I am your permanent back-watcher and partner in crime.”

“No you’re not,” Rantaro replied. “ _I_ am a grown man. If there were any angels out there watching over me, they would have been here a decade ago.”

“So it took me a little longer to graduate! Better late than never, right?”

Rantaro closed his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on, and he didn’t have the reserves to deal with a delusional angel. Who had ever even heard of such a thing? Most angels barely spoke at all, but this one couldn’t seem to shut up.

“I have work to do,” Rantaro said sternly, trying to brush past. 

Kokichi was light on his feet. He was also practically impossible to brush off, dogging Rantaro from stall to stall. Finally, the man had no choice but to give up and return to his boat. He could regroup and try again tomorrow, after this thing had lost interest in him and flitted off. 

However, the _thing_ was very persistent. It followed Rantaro back to his boat, flapping the short distance to the deck when Rantaro refused to let him on the gangplank.

“I’ve always wanted to be on a boat!” Kokichi said, flaring his wings and surveying the small space with rapt attention. “So how can I be of service, captain? Should I swab the poop deck? Batten down some hatches?”

“You could leave,” Rantaro suggested. “That might be helpful.”

Kokichi just laughed. 

Since the feathered friend was absolutely determined to stay, Rantaro decided the least he could do was make sure the birdbrain had a warm meal and a place to sleep. He made dinner for them both, dehydrated soup and jerky, and to his credit the angel didn’t complain about the subpar meal.

“So you’re gonna be gone tomorrow, right?” Rantaro asked. 

“Nope!” Kokichi replied. “You’re stuck with me forever.”

It was beginning to dawn on Rantaro that maybe this really was his guardian angel. He’d given up hope of ever getting one so long ago that he wasn’t sure how to adapt.

“Next thing you know my soulmate is gonna come knocking on the door,” he huffed.

Kokichi just stared at him blankly.

“Well, if you’re staying, I only have one bed,” Rantaro warned him, “and it’s not exactly five stars.”

“No sweat! I’ve definitely slept in worse!” Kokichi replied. 

That must have been true, because he didn’t balk at the thin mattress and threadbare quilt. In fact, he made himself right at home, snuggling closer to Rantaro than the man would have preferred. 

In the dark of the night, the sounds of city swallowed completely by the gentle roll of waves, Rantaro dared to ask, “What took you so long to find me?”

There was no answer. Rantaro knew he wasn’t asleep. He could feel the angel’s breath against the back of his neck, not shallow enough yet to be unconscious.

After a long pause, Kokichi haltingly explained, “I wanted to come, but I couldn’t. I… I was being held hostage. By demons.”

Rantaro rolled his eyes, then huffed so his disbelief wouldn’t be lost in the dark.

“You actually expect me to believe a lie like that?” he asked, rolling over so he could stare in the general direction of where Kokichi’s head was. “I’ve never heard of an angel being a liar before. You must be a defective angel.”

With a chuckle, Kokichi broke off their snuggle, turning to face away. The result was a face full of feathers for Rantaro. 

“You must not know many angels, then,” Kokichi replied. “Everyone lies. Even angels. We all have things we’d rather not talk about.”

“...I suppose that’s true.”

Rantaro decided not to press the issue. Instead, he left the little angel alone, curling in on himself to fall asleep.

Kokichi waited a long time to make sure his breathing was evened out, that Rantaro really had slipped into the other side of wakefulness. Only then did he dare to pull up his sleeve, revealing the mark that shone even in the dark: an uneven line like rolling waves, chartreuse and iridescent. Even without looking, he knew that Rantaro would have one to match on his own wrist, except the colors would be amethyst and wine, the shape something that signified Kokichi.

The real reason he had been kept from Rantaro, the reason they were never supposed to meet at all. An angel and their charge bound together by Soul Marks—the ultimate taboo. Life really was a cruel joke like that. 

Kokichi let out a humorless chuckle, then rolled over and went to sleep. 

* * *

“Gooood morning!”

Rantaro moaned and blinked open sleep-crusted eyes. He was greeted by the sight of a smiling Kokichi wielding a plate of burned eggs.

“Your breakfast is ready!”

Letting out a groan, Rantaro pushed himself out of bed.

“I was saving those eggs,” he said, staring at the brown and black speckled plate in front of him. 

“Come on! You need your strength for today! We’re gonna go out there and… uh, what’s the plan for today?”

“Well _I’m_ going to get a job so I can pick up some cash. I don’t know about you.”

“Ooh! I bet I can earn money easy! Let’s make it a competition!”

“Mm,” Rantaro grunted noncommittally, stirring his eggs. 

Money was money. He doubted the pipsqueak could earn _that_ much, but he wasn’t about to tell him no. 

However, when they actually got to the earning money part—Rantaro had found a place where he could work a rickshaw for a day—Kokichi vanished like fish down the throat of a hungry seal. Rantaro was left to do the manual labor himself. He couldn’t say he was surprised. It wasn’t an easy or glamorous job, and by the time the day was done he was coated in a briney layer of sweat, but he’d earned enough money to finally pick up some of the supplies he needed. 

It was in the market that he reunited with his supposed guardian angel. Kokichi sidled up to him, all grins and smugness. 

“We’re gonna need a bigger wallet,” he said, retrieving the wad of cash he had in his pocket.

Rantaro had to do a double-take at the sheaf of bills in his hands.

“How did you get so much money so fast?”

“Don’t worry about it!”

“Okay, now I’m _definitely_ worried about it.”

It turned out that Rantaro was right to be suspicious, because behind Kokichi, he saw a troop of city guards stalking a straight, purposeful line towards them.

“Hey you!” one of them called, raising a baton.

Kokichi didn’t even turn around to look. He snatched Rantaro’s wrist and _ran,_ dragging the both of them through city streets with all the urgency of a rabbit fleeing hounds. 

“We should probably cut town!” Kokichi suggested jovially, hauling him towards the docks.

Rantaro sighed, but he didn’t argue otherwise. He’d see if he could tame this unruly angel later, but for now… well, the money would be nice when they got to the next port.

So the two hopped on the boat and cast off, leaving behind city and law enforcement alike. While he wasn’t sad to leave the sorry excuse for a city, Rantaro was more than a little peeved at the circumstances of them leaving. 

“You might be the worst angel I’ve ever met,” he told Kokichi.

The man just giggled, giving a flutter of his wings.

“So where are we headed to now, boss?” he asked. 

With a sigh, Rantaro dug out his map. They were at least a couple days out from the next city. They had the supplies, but the boat was a small place, and having two people made it feel even smaller. 

Time passed slowly on the open ocean. It was enough to make Rantaro more amicable to the idea of spending time with his guardian nuisance. 

“So you’re really gonna follow me around the rest of my life, huh?” he asked. 

“Until one of us dies! Probably you!”

“Hey, angels may live longer, but I’m not the one that pisses off cops and shopkeepers.”

“Maybe you should start.”

“Wow, it’s like you’re actively trying to get me killed. You really are a crummy guardian, you know what?”

Rantaro had meant it as a joke. A barbed one, but the other boy was made of barbs, so it seemed like fair game. However, the brief hurt that flashed across Kokichi’s face was more glaring than the setting sun reflecting across the waves. He immediately regretted it.

“You know, it would be a lot easier to get to know you if you’d be honest with me,” Rantaro said, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. 

“What’s there to be honest about? I’m here and I’m doing my best to watch your back.”

“Yeah, but you’re obviously hiding things from me.”

Kokichi shrugged, unbothered. 

“Past is the past. We can’t change it.”

“Sure, but…”

Rantaro paused, looked around at this empty boat. His entire life was one long reminder to all the things he’d lost, the people he’d failed. When it came to not being there for people when they needed him, well, his hands weren’t clean and he wasn’t one to talk. That didn’t change the fact that he still wanted to know.

“I don’t hold it against you for not being here for the first part of my life,” Rantaro explained. “But I just… want to know why. It would help me.”

“I told you, I was being held by demo—”

“I don’t want more lies,” Rantaro interrupted, face darker than the sky before a storm. “I deserve the truth.”

Kokichi was silent for a second before sighing and excusing himself.

“I’m gonna go take a nap,” he grumbled, moving to slide past Rantaro. 

However, the other man wasn’t having it. His hand snatched out, grabbing onto Kokichi’s sleeve. Rantaro had just wanted to halt him, but that one motion turned into a fumble and then a grappling match, the angel surprisingly prone to squirming like a worm on a hook. Without meaning to, his sleeve was pushed up, revealing a bony arm devoid of muscles and…

A Soul Mark. Rantaro hadn’t even known angels could _have_ soulmates, but it wasn’t just that the mark was unusual, but that… that he could tell just from looking that it was a match to his. He felt that tremor in his soul, a soft, resonant pulse that told him this was _his_. He had always assumed maybe his soulmate had always died or he would never meet them, but now that he thought about it, the purple mark on his own forearm… he knew it belonged to Kokichi.

_Mom always did say my mark looked like a feather. I guess now I know why._

“What is this?” Rantaro demanded, surprised at how _angry_ he sounded. Finding your soulmate shouldn’t be cause for anger. It was just that he wasn’t expecting it, that it was like squeezing lemon in a wound he had thought healed long ago, but to his surprise was raw and weeping.

“It’s a birthmark.”

“I’m tired of your lies! Tell the truth!”

“It’s a Soul Mark, you idiot!”

Kokichi yanked his hand away, face growing dark.

“You want the truth so badly?” he asked, voice venom and fire. “Everyone thought I was tainted for having a Soul Mark for a human, let alone the human I was supposed to be guardian of. No one _wanted_ me to come here. I wasn’t being held by demons. It was my own people that wanted to prevent me from meeting you.”

Kokichi surveyed the mark on his arm, his other hand coming up to circle around his wrist as if he were afraid it would suddenly go out of control. 

“Everyone knew I was destined to cause harm to everyone I ever came in contact with.”

So that was the ugly truth of it. Rantaro didn’t have to wonder anymore. He surveyed the small boy, wings curled defensively around him, and felt something he hadn’t expected: solidarity.

“Fate has never been kind to me,” Rantaro said. “In fact, I’ve learned it’s best to ignore it, and try to carve my own path.”

Slowly, giving the angel plenty of time to turn away or refuse, he reached out and took Kokichi’s hand. The bones were slight, fragile as a bird’s, but Rantaro still held tight. 

“I’m not afraid to forge my own destiny, and I’m not wasting any more time.”

Then he pulled Kokichi towards him. The angel went unresisting, slotting into his arms and looking up with wide, violet irises. Part of him looked like he wanted to run, but the other part looked curious, almost hopeful.

Rantaro leaned down and sealed their lips together. He heard the snap of wind as Kokichi beat his wings in surprise, felt the breeze. However, the boy pressed deeper into his kiss, returning it. 

Kokichi kissed like a novice. He kissed like someone who had never anticipated ever actually kissing another person, and thus had not even conceptual knowledge of what it would be like. It was a little messy, and hungry, and he wouldn’t open his mouth wide enough to really do it properly. Rantaro had to angle his face to make sure their noses weren’t getting in the way, made all the minute adjustments that would make this a pleasant experience.

It wasn’t like Rantaro had much experience in this, either, but he had enough to take the lead. His hands slipped underneath Kokichi’s ass, a perch for the boy to lean back on, and used that to hoist him higher. It was easier like this, when they were on equal heights. No more doubling over. Kokichi was a small weight in his arms, light as a bird, and it was no trouble at all for Rantaro to move while holding him, to take them both over to the mattress and fall back onto it.

“Hey!” Kokichi hissed, pushing against Rantaro. “Watch the wings!”

Ah. That would make things a little difficult. The extra appendages meant Kokichi wouldn’t be comfortable on his back, so Rantaro rolled them over so that they lay parallel to each other. The mattress was barely any cushioning at all below them, a thin line that did nothing to hide the wooden slats underneath. However, right now both of them had other things to focus on.

“Are you really okay doing this with… someone like me?” Kokichi asked.

“With a literal angel?”

“A dirty angel. Everyone always said that… there has to be something wrong with me.”

Rantaro leaned back a little, surveying the figure sprawled out on the mattress. Angels had always seemed so otherworldly, distant and alien. But the boy beside him… he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t some superior, judging force. He was… fallible. Maybe he _was_ a defective angel, but defective didn’t mean undesirable.

“I want you just the way you are,” Rantaro responded, hands coming up to cradle either side of Kokichi’s face. 

They returned to kissing. Slow. Patient. It had taken this long for them to be reunited, so they were going to enjoy this moment. 

Kokichi tasted sweet, closer to candy than he had any right to be. Not surprising. Rantaro had figured that underneath that sour shell there was someone sweet. 

Hands came up to trace Rantaro’s belt, following it like it was the yellow brick road, racing the route to his buckle. Kokichi fumbled with it, his hands jittery and shaking with anticipation.

“Need a little help?” Rantaro asked.

“No! I got this!”

Rantaro couldn’t help but chuckle at his determination. Even when he was in over his head, Kokichi did his best to act like he had all the answers. There was something admirable in that, that confidence in the face of being absolutely outclassed. Refusal to show fear. It encouraged Rantaro to be bold, too, and he set about unclasping the various bindings of Kokichi’s jacket.

Beneath them, the boat rocked gently with the waves. It made them knock and brush against each other even as they went about removing their clothing. Each time they parted, their bodies were brought together again, the wax and wane of contact turned into a natural rhythm.

Finally they were free of their clothes, bare on the bed.

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” Kokichi said, gesturing to his body, the lean cast that made him look even smaller without clothes.

“Of course not.”

“Liar,” Kokichi grumbled. 

“I’m telling the truth,” Rantaro insisted, reaching out and grabbing Kokichi’s hand. Again he was struck by how bird-like his bones were. “You were absolutely worth waiting for.”

Kokichi bit his lip, obviously caught between wanting to argue more and too flustered to make words. Rantaro suspected he had never received a sincere compliment in his life, but that was about to change. 

Reaching out his arms, Rantaro tugged Kokichi to him. He let his hands wander up to card through those wings, felt the prickle of quills and the silky slide of down. Even under the shadow of the cabin, the feathers were almost luminescent in color. They shone like the tail of some exotic bird of paradise, reflecting the half-light back against the wall in soft glimmers of fuschia. 

“We’re gonna have to be careful not to pin these,” he mused out loud. 

Most of the positions that sprang to Rantaro’s mind involved Kokichi on his back, but there was no way that would be comfortable with giant wings caught underneath. Not to mention Rantaro was a little afraid of breaking something with how delicate the man seemed. 

“Here, I have an idea for what we can try.”

Rantaro shifted, sitting with his legs hanging off the bed and dragging Kokichi into his lap. The man went without complaint, his hands instinctively shifting to grip Rantaro’s shoulders. Both were still getting warmed up, easing into it, and they returned to kissing. If nothing else, Kokichi was a very fast learner. His kisses were more coordinated now, the tilt of his head enough that they weren’t smooshing noses together and cutting off air. 

Rantaro traced his hands around the outline of Kokichi’s wings, feeling the little line of down where flesh turned to feathers. It was softer than velvet, and his own salt-crusted hands felt like a wire brush in comparison. However, Kokichi responded to the stimulation with a sigh and spreading his wings, wanting more. Rantaro was eager to give it.

While the two continued to kiss, Rantaro reached down with one hand and gathered both their cocks so they could slide against each other. Kokichi gasped, his hands tightening their grip. Likewise, it was a lot of stimulation for Rantaro, too, this unfamiliar warmth of another person pressed against him. They undulated, slow, unrushed. It was the same tempo as waves against a sandy shore, up and down, the boat rocking with them. 

Everywhere Kokichi felt soft. Even his mouth, separated from Rantaro’s lips and now wandering his body, was light as a feather. He placed kisses against Rantaro’s neck, said embarrassing things about how good it felt, how much he wanted it.

“Promise you won’t let me go,” he pleaded into Rantaro’s ear, voice stretched thin and breathless.

“Promise. And I’m no liar.”

That must have been what Kokichi was waiting to hear. He melted into Rantaro’s arms, body alternating between tense and relaxed, pressure building before releasing all over Rantaro’s stomach. It was a slick mess, squishing between them even as Rantaro hugged him closer. The two kept rubbing against each other, crashing and rocking, until finally Rantaro came, too. Even in the throes of climax, he never let his hands leave Kokichi’s body, held him close like he never wanted the angel out of his sight again. 

The two didn’t even bother to clean up or get dressed. They were out on the open ocean. Who was around to see? Just each other, and they didn’t care. It seemed more important to not break contact, to fall asleep still wrapped in each other’s arms. 

Perhaps there was a bit of regret the next morning when they woke sticky and tacky.

“I don’t suppose this dinghy has a shower?” Kokichi asked.

“Not really. But we’re surrounded by water. We’ll make do.”

Rantaro offered him his hand and pulled the angel out of bed. They had a new day ahead of them, a new city on the horizon, and they had each other. All things considered, they were very lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/Yurusarenai3)


End file.
